


Sparring

by Sunshine170



Category: Fringe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine170/pseuds/Sunshine170
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches as she sweeps her hair to one side and allows the man to clip the bug fitted into an earring of some sort into her ear, telling her something about how to use it, while she nods and simultaneously hitches up her long black dress with its obscenely high slit and rather advantageous cleavage quotient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring

"Rings."

He raises an eyebrow at her as she slips off her band from her finger and holds out her outstretched palm indicating he should follow suit. Almost reluctantly, he takes off his own ring and places it next to hers.

She reaches then for the inside pocket of his tuxedo and slips them inside.

"Keep them safe. " She tells him with a wink, patting his chest through the fabric gently before walking away to the tech person waiting to fit her with a comm device.

He watches as she sweeps her hair to one side and allows the man to clip the bug fitted into an earring of some sort into her ear, telling her something about how to use it, while she nods and simultaneously hitches up her long black dress with its obscenely high slit and rather advantageous cleavage quotient, and lets another field agent strap a gun holster to her thigh, her leg hiked over a chair, every alabaster inch of it on display.

Even though she's turned away from him, she's smiling, he knows, probably aware of his eyes following her every move, along with several of the male officers in the command room they'd set up in the hotel suite. One of them, a fresh faced twenty something who had 'rookie' stamped all over him was practically salivating at the sight of her.

He supposes an average man would feel some sense of jealousy at having his wife put on show in this way. But there has never been a bone of possessiveness in his body and he really knows better than to start acting like some territorial chauvinistic jackass while on assignment, especially when they were about to go undercover and their ability to get through it unharmed depended on seamless coordination with the unit. Idiotic and petty as it would make him look; such behavior only serves to make Olivia the subject of ridicule and he can't have that.

If anything, he knows there is some envy being directed his way right about now. Because who is he kidding really, his wife is hot.

Like twelve on a scale of one to ten hot.

And stare as much as they might, he's the one who gets to go home with her when this is wrapped up and despite his intentions to be professional about this whole thing (and he usually is uncharacteristically straight laced in these situations, more out of deference for her position than out of any real heed to the chain of authority), he can't help the smirk that makes his way at the thought of that.

Granted, she'll probably have shed the femme fatale act by then, the stilettoes alone will have gone mere moments after she's in the car and the rest of it will follow swiftly, efficiently once they're back home and before long she'll be in her usual tank top and drawstring sweats, makeup wiped off, probably pacing around with their highly nocturnal eight month old daughter, trying to get her to go to sleep.

But she'll still look every bit a vision as she does now, of that he has no doubt.

As if on cue, in that eerie way she's always been able to intuit his head space, she turns to him slightly and gives him a knowing smile.

"You ready for this?" She asks him, walking up to him, reaching out a hand to straighten his bow tie.

"Are you kidding?" He takes her arm and leads them out the door.

"I've been waiting to do a Mr. and Mrs. Smith for five years now."

* * *

"You know if you wanted to be on top, all you needed to do was ask?" He says with a smirk, as she straddles him in one swift move, pinning him to the floor.

They're both slightly out of breath, and even as Olivia regards him with a triumphant smile, she applies more pressure on the hands she was squeezing pushing him against the floor, with more might than was strictly necessary.

Except it only makes him grin wider than before. "And forceful, I like a woman who's not afraid to unleash a little pain."

She shakes her head at him, part of her wanting to bend down and wipe that smirk of his with a resounding kiss.

But she doesn't think that would especially serve to validate her victory. And it wouldn't be prudent considering at this point that at least half a dozen pairs of eyes were watching them with a feigned indifference that was too deliberate to be casual.

She stands up in a brisk move, walking away; leaving him still sprawled on his back on the floor of the ring.

"Did anyone ever tell you, you're a sore loser?" She says coolly, taking a sip from her water bottle as she watches him slowly sit up and crick his neck in either direction. He's accentuating those actions, she knows, for dramatic effect, for the benefit of the audience they had gathered without intending to.

He enjoys it, she can tell.

It's been a while since they did this. Too long really.

But the adrenaline rush feels familiar, exhilarating as ever. The satisfaction of beating him a little too good than what would be considered a mature response from an adult.

She'd been the one to suggest they try combat training together, even before they had started dating. Given that they worked together on the field, she had thought it good for them to understand each other's moves and be able to coordinate better when a situation presented itself. Given that he was a civilian and that he was unarmed when they often found themselves in dangerous scenarios, she wanted to be sure of his ability to defend himself.

The fact it would be so much fun was not something either of them had counted on. Peter never pulled any punches and neither did she, which made it more than a fair fight. He was ruthlessly competitive, something she thoroughly enjoyed because it made her that much better at her game, to constantly strive to match her precision and skill to his more spontaneous but equally efficient strategies.

Except the one time he accidentally socked her, causing her lip to split open and then spent the whole week acting like he killed someone, swearing to every god and beyond never to touch her ever again, till she had to tell him to quit being stupid and dragged him back to the ring.

He's chuckling at her remark now, unwrapping the linen bandages around his knuckles, giving his wrists an experimental flex.

"Winning and losing is not a zero-sum game like you seem to think it is." He says up on his feet now, moving closer to take the bottle from her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She looks at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Don't tell me you…. did you start a betting pool again?"

He winks at her, still chugging down the water. "And what if I did?"

"This is the FBI training facility." She says sternly. "I thought we had this discussion."

"Tell that to your colleagues." He shrugs. "They're the ones who wanted in on the action. So much for defenders of the law. "

"Peter tell me you didn't…" She looks at him disapprovingly.

He raises a teasing eyebrow at her before breaking into a smile. "I didn't. I have too much of an ego to bet against myself and I know better than to bet against you. If there's any money changing hands today on our little duel, I had nothing to do with it."

"Why don't I trust you?" She says folding her arms at him.

"I don't know. Why don't you? Most people find me very trustworthy." He shrugs, pulling her hands into his own, as he unwraps her bandages for her, giving her knuckles a once over, feeling with his fingers for any injury. In one second he goes from being a competitive opponent to being the caring husband, making her smile despite everything.

"You concentrated too much pressure on your fists again." He frowns at the micro lesions that have broken out on her skin. "I thought  _we_  had this discussion." He gives her the same disciplining  look she had given him earlier.

"I am fine." She shrugs. "It's just a few scratches. Wanna go again? Best out of three?" She asks, wiping the sweat of her brow as she reaches to tighten her ponytail. "You might even win for once."

"I've won plenty of times." He reminds her.

"In another timeline." She says, giving him a casual grin, lowering her voice by that many decibels. "They don't count if they never happened."

"That's a very selective way of looking at things. " He comments with a sardonic expression. "Does everything that never happened not count then? Because we might have to revisit our entire relationship going by that logic. "

She simply gives him a look at that. "Is that your way of backing out of a rematch?"

"Hardly." He chuckles. "As much fun as I'd have wiping that smile off of your face, we have to go pick up Etta, it's almost close to six."

She peers at the clock on the wall behind him, realizing only then how late it was getting.

"You can stay… if you're still itching for some action." He grins at her as he climbs out of the ring, grabbing his gym bag. "Find yourself some strapping young new cadet to be your sparring partner. He'll be so turned on at the thought of going up against you, you'll probably take him down in under ten seconds."

"Where's the fun in that now?" She laughs, grabbing her own bag and following him out of the ring. "At least it takes a whole minute with you."

"That' a hell lotta confidence Dunham." He turns around to face her. "I'll remember to throw that in your face, the next time I destroy you."

"Dream on." She nudges his shoulder, as they make their way out of the gym, towards their respective locker rooms, before he pulls her close and quickly looks around to make sure there was no one around and presses a fervent kiss to her lips.

"You have no idea…. the things I would like to do to you right about now." He whispers pulling away almost immediately.

"I have an inkling." She grins, pressing her forehead against his.

"You know, ever since high school, I've had the most ardent fantasy about sneaking into the women's locker room." He tells her then.

"Unfortunately some things are meant to stay a fantasy." She says meaningfully, pushing him away. "Remember Etta? She's waiting for us."

"Right." He sighs, nodding. "Meet you at the car in fifteen?"

Olivia nods and then gives him a slight grin. "You know later… in the night, I might be in need of a sparring partner again."

He keeps his expression impressively neutral as he looks at her. "Is that an offer for a rematch again, Agent Dunham?"

"Absolutely." She shakes her head, pulling him for a long kiss, before breaking away, leaving him breathless, like he'd been on the floor of the ring a few minutes ago.

"And this time we can both win."


End file.
